The Milt Ingram Trophy Race is a 42 nm course across the Santa Barbara Channel, off the coast of southern California. It starts about 2 miles south of Ventura Harbor, runs west to Oil Platform Grace leaving it to port, then runs around Anacapa Island leaving it to port, then returns to Ventura Harbor.




One requirement for this race is a boat length of at least 18 ft. However, 16s would be allowed at the discretion of the RC. In consideration of our prior racing experience, we were allowed to enter the Hobie 16. There was a short list of other requirements, including "standing rigging less than 3 years old". In my case, I replaced the trap wires prior to the event, since it was "about that time" anyway.




As soon as my son Thomas and I left Ventura Harbor and made our way to the starting line on Saturday, I knew we were in for a rough ride. The sea was choppy, and the wind was already up at 10:45am. We parked ourselves near the starting area, noting the diversity of participating boats, which included beach cats, trimarans, and various mono hulls, including a 70 footer with a crew of 12.




At this point we considered the conditions to be well within the limitations of both us and the boat. But we also realized that conditions could be expected to deteriorate significantly as we made our way out into the channel. If either one of us became unsure of our situation, we would retire from the race and head home. Safety gear included the obvious full wet suits and PFD, and also included a 30 ft tow line, aerial and hand held flares, marker dye, a compass, a chart, binoculars, a flashlight, personal light beacons, whistles, knives, a hand held GPS, and a cell phone. All gear was stored in a tramp bag with the exception of the aerial flares, whistles, and knives, which which we kept on ourselves. The crew also had the GPS on him.




We had a decent start on the RC boat end of the line. I'm not sure if this was favorable, one factor being the small cannon used as the start signal. (My right ear rang for a while.) The Hobie 20s, Prindle 19s, and Nacras began to pull away from us. Our 16 trailed the pack, sans a Hobie 20 which was behind us having been late to the line.




It was a 2 1/2 hour trek to Drilling Platform Grace, with my crew trapped out the entire time. The swells, waves, and wind were growing. Winds were reported to be around 20 kts. Not sure what the gusts were, but they were kicking our butt. Seas around 7 ft, and surprisingly steep, with healthy wind waves as well. Of particular concern was the steepness of the swells. It was going to be an exciting ride home, anyway. It was on a port tack, still beating to Grace, that we heard it: A sharp pop. The boat shuddered. I sheeted out and had the crew come in from the wire to check things out. After a good examination, everything checked out okay. We assumed we had hit some debris in the water, and continued on.




The GPS was a nice tool at this point, giving us a reliable bearing on both Grace as well as the lay line. Once we were on the starboard lay line to Grace, things started getting "challenging". We were taking heavy seas off our starboard bow, and the crew was now off the wire, since he was having a tough time staying on the boat. We decided we would make a decision once we were around Grace and on a reach.




Once around Grace, the point of sail was more of a broad reach than the beam reach we expected. While we had slowly passed a few of the mono hulls on our way to Grace, it was on this broad reach that we were really screaming past these boats that had started 30 min prior to us. The beam seas were a problem, and had reached approximately 10 feet. Due to the steepness, I had to head up at the crests of some of the larger waves to avoid straddling the crest and swamping the boat. Near pitchpoles were numerous, but my expert crew was releasing the jib to recover, then resheeting. At this point we were running a tight downhaul and outhaul, and were travelled out with a tight main sheet. Basically, running about as depowered as we could get in winds now reported to be gusting over 30 kts, both sitting on the rear crossbar trying to avoid a pitchpole. Eventually we did pitchpole, and it was a quick one, with both bows submerging to the cross bar and the masthead slamming to the water in front. The boat immediately went full turtle. Being upside down, in large swells, in the middle of the Santa Barbara Channel, is a very lonely feeling.




Our first righting attempt had the boat righting then immediately capsizing with the wind back to full turtle. On our 2nd attempt, we were quicker getting to the windward side of the dolphin striker and hanging on to keep the boat down, only to have the boat lift us both out of the water for yet another capsize to turtle.




On our 3rd attempt, I was determined to get the bows into the wind having failed to do so previously. We again stood on the bow to get the sterns to weather vane, to no avail. This time I noticed that the main was acting as a sea anchor, with its battens bent 90 degrees due to the boat drift. So I climbed to the stern, centered the traveller, and sheeted the main to bring it out of the water. We then weather vaned the bows into the wind, released the main, and righted the boat successfully. By this time, things were a mess. The 70 ft of Aussie jib halyard was all over the place, tangled around the mast, shrouds, and rudders. The tramp bag containing most of our safety gear was gone. By now, a few passing competitors had asked if we needed assistance. We had declined, since we felt the situation was still under control. Also, a commercial dive vessel was circling our position, keeping an eye on things. We got the lines straightened out, decided to call it a day, and headed for home.




Here's where things got dicey. It was a broad reach on the way home. While riding the face of a wave, we pitchpoled again. Interestingly, in most pitchpoles, you try not to hit parts of the boat as you fly forward. In these conditions, you hold your limbs out hoping to hit something as to not get separated from the boat. Staying with the boat was a definite priority. (At one point the boat was turtled and I was working on uncleating the main, when a large swell took me about 12 feet away from the boat, then brought me back again. After that, I always had a good grip on some part of the boat at all times.) We righted the boat and tried it again, this time heading more on a run than a reach. Now, I'm heading straight downwind, with main battens bent around the shrouds, and the boat is still going like hell. Again we come down the face of a wave, stuff the bows, and go head over heels. We try it again, this time trying to center the travellers and sheeting in to take the boat downwind with as little power as we can. The first swell swings the stern to leeward, and over we go again.




In rough conditions, righting a catamaran 6 times can really drain you. As the boat is on its side, we take a break. I have come to the realization that the boat is quite stable on its side and gives us a chance to rest. Once we are ready, I try one more option. My crew grabs the main halyard, takes it out to the bows, and disengages the lug. We then right the boat and completely lower the mainsail, securing it to the tramp. (Can't reef the main with a comptip. And they call it a safety item?) We are now under jib alone, just as the Coast Guard shows up. At this point the boat is actually moving along quite well on the jib, but the guy on the CG boat is recommending that we come aboard and tow the boat in. My son had just about had it for the day. I asked him if he was willing to make a 3 hour sail back to the harbor and he said he REALLY wanted to get on that nice big CG boat.




Humbled, I boarded the CG boat, helped tie the Hobie to the side with bumpers, then called the RC to retire from the race and advise of our condition. Just then we saw a CG helicopter fly overhead. Apparently, a 2nd catamaran had capsized. But a head count at the finish suggested that the 2nd boat had righted and continued on.




It was a 3 hour tow to Channel Islands Harbor. BTW, the CG were an extremely considerate bunch. Took extraordinary care in assuring that the boat was tied properly to avoid any damage. A letter of appreciation is in the mail.




Once at the harbor, we began derigging the boat, and found the source of the aforementioned "popping" noise. The stress on the forestay had snapped the lower rivet on the cleat which secures the jib halyard. The rivet was ripped from the mast, allowing the cleat to rotate around the remaining rivet, which made it quite a chore to untie.




Later, at the trophy presentations, I had learned that many other boats had turned back after rounding Grace when conditions became too rough. A representative of Land Rover (the primary sponsor of the event) presented us with Land Rover T shirts to raise our spirits. I told him it was probably the highest priced T shirt I had ever owned.




Lessons:




1. When the going will be rough, sail with a buddy or buddies. In my case, other competitors were in the area. While I did not intend to disrupt the racing activity of others, having other boats nearby can keep a bad day from becoming a fight for survival.




2. When conditions get questionable, be aware of your limitations (whether personal or equipment) ON ALL POINTS OF SAIL. We were fine when beating. The crap did not really hit the fan until we turned around. We underestimated this, and paid dearly for it.




3. In rough weather, do not secure items with bungees. This was an embarrassing mistake. Use rope. We really had that bag strapped down tight. But at some point, the only thing I had left of that bag was 1 bungee cord with a hook straightened out. Probably pulled off during a pitchpole or by a swell when turtled. Now there's $500 worth of my gear at the bottom of the channel.




4. Keep some safety gear on your person. In our case, even though that bag was gone, we still had aerial flares, whistles, and lights. Even with a properly secured tramp bag, you may need some stuff if you get separated from the boat.




5. Consider sailing on the jib alone if all other methods of depowering fail.




6. If long distance racing where seas have the potential of becoming rough, determine if you have the best boat for your situation. Although there are advanced sailors who may feel that a Hobie 16 is perfectly suited to these conditions, I would have been far more confortable with a Hobie 18, which I consider to have more bouyancy in the bows.




7. Finally, take the time to assess your immediate situation. On that last screaming reach in those nasty conditions, all I could think was "Don't capsize. Don't capsize." When we did capsize, the desire to right the boat was an extremely urgent one. Three righting attempts in rough conditions can be very exhausting. Actually, we were quite fine on our side. It would have been better to have taken the time to assess things on that first righting attempt, which would have resulted in getting the boat over correctly on the first try.




I welcome comments, criticisms from experienced heavy weather sailors regarding this experience. While I feel the experience was valuable and makes us better sailors, I regret that some competitors may have sailed off course to check us out, the CG boat spent the better part of an afternoon with us, we caused the RC some stress, and we probably cut some diving time from those guys on the dive boat.




I extend a heartfelt thanks to those skippers who checked up on us as they went by. Also, my extreme appreciation goes to Brian Kent, the skipper of "Loafer", who radioed our position and made sure we were okay. Also, to the skipper of the dive boat "Peace", who stood by until the Coast Guard arrived.




Note: This story was written in 1999 and my heavy weather skills have developed significantly since. Still, there are many good points raised in this story for the beginning to intermediate sailor who may find themselves in comparable conditions.




Bill Mattson